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Chapter 11: The Date

Their date location was an orphanage in Canton's countryside. The name on the weathered flex banner glared at George, and he glared back at it: Haven for Little Angels. He couldn't believe his eyes. They had driven for over an hour in Isla's car to visit an orphanage? George wondered incredulously, feeling highly uncomfortable with the choice. She had kept their date location as a surprise, but this hadn't been expected at all.

"Come on," Isla said excitedly as soon as she killed the engine. Turning to her companion, she was surprised to see that he was glaring ahead of him, his lips pursed and arms crossed tightly on his chest like a petulant child.

She knew a moment of panic. Had she messed up by bringing him here? This place meant a lot to her. She had thought that bringing him here was sharing a deep part of her with him, and perhaps that he could see the gentle side of her that she knew she hardly showed. He had probably expected something fancy.

"Are you okay?"

He didn't look at her, but he answered nonetheless. "Why here?" His voice was tight, heavy with emotion she couldn't decipher. Her heart skipped at the palpable unease coming from him. She had to tread carefully.

"There was an incident in my life that made me want to give up, George." The rest of the words caught in her throat, but she forced them out. "I was advised to come here, to see children who had faced worse tragedies. I did. It made me resolve to give life another chance." She stopped, unable to say more, praying that he wouldn't demand an explanation. She wasn't ready to go into the details of the 'incident.'

He turned his face towards her now, gauging her expression. He hadn't expected the short but grievous story. It left a lot to be told, but he had seen how she had struggled to say the little she did. Later, he would ask. For now, he decided to open up a bit to her as well, a reward for her trust.

"I grew up in an orphanage." Isla recoiled in shock. She felt like drowning now in shame. "I am so sorry! I didn't know." She pleaded, her hand that was still on the ignition moved to turn it back on. George's hand was on hers in an instant, stopping the action. Pleading blue eyes met distressed brown ones. "We don't have to be here, George. It's my fault for not telling you ahead of time."

"No," he said firmly, squeezing her hand reassuringly. He took it away from where it sat near the ignition and brought it to his lips. It was only a chaste kiss on her knuckles, yet Isla shivered at the gentleness. "I want to be here now." He looked straight into her eyes, wishing his eyes could convey the truthfulness of his words.

She nodded, hating the position she put him in, but she really had to see the kids. It had been a while. Secretly, she hoped that George wouldn't just tolerate their stay here, but would also come to love it. She would be attentive to him, ready to leave if he still was uncomfortable when interacting with the kids.

She understood the ache of being in a place that held memories you'd rather forget.

Five minutes later, they stepped into the building, hands filled with bags bursting with toys, clothes, and stacks of books. George was struck by how prepared Isla was, having seen the trunk filled with these gifts earlier.

A warm smile greeted them from the middle-aged man behind the reception desk. "I feared you had forgotten us," he confessed as they exchanged greetings.

Isla's smile was just as warm. "Hardly. I've been swamped, but I promised myself I'd see you all today."

"You've done splendidly; the kids have been eagerly asking after you."

"Sister Peace mentioned—"

Isla's words were swept away by a chorus of excited shrieks and laughter echoing from a swarm of children. They turned to see the source. Down the long, open staircase, about twenty children rushed towards them, wide grins lighting up their faces.

"Slow down!" the man behind the desk called out, concern in his voice.

But Isla couldn't help but laugh. She gently placed her bags down just in time to catch the first child, pulling them into a tight embrace. Six more followed suit, their thin arms wrapped around her legs, waist, wherever they could reach. The rest hung back, waiting for their turn. When the first seven let go, others took their place.

George watched, fighting back the lump in his throat. Their ages seemed to span from four to thirteen, with similar dusty complexions and facial features, as if they shared a common heritage.

The last group were still hugging Isla when a woman, a nun in her late forties, descended the stairs. In her arms, she cradled a baby boy who couldn't have been much older than a year. George's throat tightened.

Growing up in an orphanage hadn't lessened the pain of seeing such young, parentless souls. The boy was adorable, his skin a deeper shade, his hair full and curly, and his eyes big and round, just like Isla's. George felt an urge to sweep the baby up and flee.

"What's this?" Isla greeted the nun respectfully, reaching out for the baby. But the boy clung to the nun, eyeing Isla with suspicion. She couldn't help but laugh at the cute little frown he gave her. After exchanging cheerful greetings, the nun turned her gaze to George. All eyes in the room followed hers, and he felt... cornered.

"Hi," he managed, giving a somewhat awkward wave. To his surprise, some of the children giggled softly. Isla came to his aid, linking her arm through his and beaming at them. "Everyone, meet my friend George."

Greeting and murmurs of welcome filled the room, a mix of curiosity and shyness in their eyes. The man from earlier extended a hand for a handshake. George took it, relieved when the gesture was quickly released.

"Hello George. Quite the handsome companion you have, Isla," the nun chimed in, playfully winking at Isla. George couldn't help but be taken aback. The nuns in the orphanage that raised him were the typical stern faced women, they didn't wink.

Isla snorted with amusement.

She released his arm to pick up the bags she'd placed on the floor. The older children eagerly rushed to help, and she allowed them. Two boys, around eleven years old, came up to George, offering to take his bags. He politely declined; they were the only things keeping his hands occupied.

The nun led them out of the reception hall to a spacious room filled with plastic chairs. George felt a brush against his hand and turned to see Isla, carrying a little girl with one hand.

'Are you okay?' she silently mouthed to him. George wasn't exactly okay, but he nodded. He was a man now, not a starved orphan. He could handle this. It wasn't exactly a date, he mused. Isla might want to check the word in the dictionary again.

After the nun left, they were left alone with the children. A few minutes later, two older boys, over sixteen, entered. They greeted Isla, taking the bags away, but leaving one behind as she instructed. They all settled into the chairs. The baby boy was now cradled by a teenage girl.

"Auntie Isla, we missed you," one of them chirped, swinging her legs playfully.

"I missed you too, sweetie. Yusuf and Ibrahim, come share these books around. Each one has your name on it," Isla said, prompting the boys to eagerly help distribute the books.

The book covers were vibrant and cheerful, clearly meant for their age group. George picked one up to flip through it. A glittering '3-5' was in the corner, accompanied by a beautifully painted garden and a comical-looking bunny. What truly astonished him, though, was seeing Isla J.'s name listed as the author.

"You write children's books too?"

"Yes, just for them. They're orphans from the insurgency in Congo. Some of them haven't had formal education. Junior, there, was born after his mother went into labor upon seeing her husband stabbed to death in their own home. She didn't make it."

George's heart ached even more for these children now. While he had lost his parents in a car accident, these kids had witnessed the horrors of their parents being brutally killed, stabbed or even blown up. Junior was the baby he'd been admiring earlier. He looked at each child more closely, feeling a deep sense of shame for his earlier hesitancy to come inside.

"Thank you for bringing me here, Isla."

Isla started at the unexpected gratitude. Smiling, she took his hand and placed a much smaller hand in his.

It was the same girl she'd been carrying earlier. George gently pulled her closer, and she complied, her eyes cast down. He could feel the other children inching closer to him. Whatever 'stay away' signals he might have been giving off earlier seemed to have vanished with his newfound understanding. He looked down at the beauty in his lap.

"Hello, pretty. What's your name?"

"Ella," she answered, clutching her book tightly to her chest.

"That's a lovely name. And you, young man?"

One by one, he asked for their names. Some were eager to engage, while others remained shy.

Once the introductions were finished, George stood up and clapped his hands together. He felt lighter now and was determined to make this today a blast for them. He couldn't change their past, but he was going to make them laugh so hard that they would burst out laughing anytime they remembered this evening.

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